


Trust Fall

by Iztarshi (khilari), lunaTactics



Series: A Hand To Hold [2]
Category: The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khilari/pseuds/Iztarshi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaTactics/pseuds/lunaTactics
Summary: It’s meant to be an offer.It was an offer when MedUnit accepted it, asked for its governor module to be hacked and discovered a whole universe of possibilities. But the Combat SecUnit is dying, not lucid enough to choose. Whether or not it wants to be a rogue, MedUnit wants it tolive.The story of how MedUnit ends up bringing a fresh-from-the-gunship-incident Combat SecUnit home aboard a ship full of rogue units.
Relationships: Combat SecUnit & MedUnit
Series: A Hand To Hold [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992310
Comments: 15
Kudos: 77
Collections: Rogues and Rampancy





	Trust Fall

I emerge from the reassuringly cubicle-like space of my wardrobe well before we emerge from the wormhole. It's my refuge, the only place where I really feel off-duty and I don’t want to ruin it by being in there anxiously looking through Ship’s exterior cameras and waiting for a ping. Instead I sit down on my bed, the one I only really bought so I’d have a place to put the pretty teal velvet blanket I’m running my hands over nervously. The Captain has kept things uncharacteristically close to its chest this time: I don't even know where we're going to emerge, let alone if we have a mission. I just know that Captain said there's somewhere we need to go and to be ready.

I try to concentrate on a medical textbook but I keep switching over to Ship’s feed and distracting myself. I switch to the latest novel in the _Station SaintJoseph_ series, since it won’t matter if I don’t take in the details. It’s a novel where the early days of space exploration are being undertaken by mice. (Corporations had far less to do with mouse colonisation and you never have to worry about questions like who's doing the mining. The moles are, and they love it.)

Even so I can barely focus.

The ping saying we’ve arrived comes as a relief. I scan the local feed, discovering we’re at TranRollinHyfa and, between all the adverts and static trying to strangle the feed, not much else.

*

TranRollinHyfa is the wrong place for us, too corporate, too central, too much security but we stay there for more than a cycle anyway. There’s no way we could dock here, we’re just floating around keeping an eye on a gunship for one of the more notorious companies. The Captain’s been anxious, pacing around the control room and talking to Ship on a private feed, but none of us know what we’re here for.

I'm running a diagnostic on MedSystem and repacking the Medkits for the third time in an hour, trying to be ready for something without knowing what it is. When the alert comes I jump into Ship’s cameras so fast I drop the breathing mask I was holding.

Two shuttles have launched from the ground, one following the other. Ship’s guns lock onto the second one and the feed goes silent and heavy.

_Captain,_ says Clunker, the oldest SecUnit on our crew. _We won’t survive shooting here._

_Ship is prepared to make a quick getaway,_ the Captain says. Its voice is strangely flat with how hard it’s suppressing emotion from leaking onto the feed.

MAD and Gene from engineering fall away into a private feed, ready to overclock systems if Ship asks them to and repair them afterwards.

I pick up the mask and finish packing the medkit, hands feeling far away as I watch the shuttles through Ship’s cameras. The flash of a missile hitting the second shuttle seems like a hallucination, something out of sync with reality. We didn’t fire. Ship replays the footage and this time I see that the gunship fired.

_Stand down,_ the Captain says. Gene reappears on the feed, full of heartfelt relief that we won’t have to get ourselves killed.

I’m still watching the damaged shuttle as the one it was pursuing gets pulled aboard the gunship. It’s cracked open, metal peeling back, losing air fast. Whoever was inside it is probably already in pieces.

There could have been as many as twenty humans in there.

I grab the medkit and run to the nearest airlock, only putting it down so I can pull on an evac suit.

_Stand down._ The Captain’s voice is on my private feed this time, and more forceful. I flinch.

_There are humans dying out there,_ I say.

_They were corporates and security pursuing a rogue SecUnit._

I understand what we’ve been doing better now, if not why the Captain has been keeping it to itself. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re dying, that I watched the missile hit. That the missile hitting them nearly came from a ship I was in. I’ve shot humans before, left them bleeding out and dying while I fetched _my_ humans to safety. I’ve tried to fight with my governor module about kill shots, about first aid, and always faltered when its cold programmed logic sent the first jolt.

The airlock won’t open when I hit the button. If I was human I might have started crying, leaked tears and snot. Instead I leak emotions onto the feed, just as helpless and ugly. _Please. They’re dying. Please._

_You won’t get there in time,_ the Captain says, but I don’t know whether it relents or Ship does because the lock opens.

*

The humans are dead. Of course they are. Some of their bodies are little more than pulp. I still feel calmer as I step aboard the shuttle and prepare to search for signs of life I already know won’t be there. This is something that should be done.

I check the feed first, reflexively, and am immediately overwhelmed. The thing that clutches at me is a construct intelligence radiating a sense of loss so overwhelming I wonder if these were its clients and whether even that would explain it. It’s alive, the only living thing on the shuttle, and I propel myself over to the familiar SecUnit armour fast because with no living clients nearby it won’t be alive for long.

As soon as I touch its firewalls I realise this is a Combat SecUnit. If it wasn’t half-delirious and completely lacking in the will to defend itself I wouldn’t be able to get in, but it doesn’t fight me. In all the desolation and rage swamping it the most emotion it seems able to manage for me is anger that it didn’t want _me_ to kill it, it wanted _someone else_ to do that, someone who moves like a bullet but in ways no tactical array accounts for.

I pull away its damaged helmet and get the breathing mask over its face, not sure whether to hope that brings back lucidity. It could easily turn the tables on me as I clumsily push my way through its code to its governor module; hacking has never been my strong point. Pushing my hands through the remains of its armour is just as necessary an intrusion. If I take the armour off it’s going to fall apart, but while I can spray wound sealant over the rags of the suit skin it wears underneath it won’t do any good over the armour. Even over the suit skin the wound sealant sticks in half-peeling patches that still might just keep its blood inside it for long enough. I need to get a tourniquet around its leg, get it back to Ship and into the MedBay.

Most of all I need it not to fry before I can do any of that. Hacking someone’s governor module is meant to be an offer, but there’s no time, and it’s barely lucid. I shove the code through and feel its governor module disengage with a sense of profound relief.

It seems to become fully aware I’ve been in its head only when I withdraw. The response is a surge in its already overwhelming sense of loss, combined with panic. As if it’s just realised it still has something to lose. It doesn’t want to be alone, it’s never been alone, it _can’t_ be alone, it’s more afraid of the loneliness than it is of dying.

I reach back out to it on the feed, try to make myself solid in the midst of its spinning thoughts before it actually unravels. It clutches at me, wraps around me. I’ve had humans cling like this, physically, when they’re traumatised and hurt. The person clinging to me now could crush me in an instant.

_You’re going to be okay,_ I send it. _I’ve got you. We’re going to get you somewhere safe._ I put my arms around it, my physical arms, and it shudders with pain it’s too damaged to regulate. _I’ll fix it. Just a little longer. I’ve got you._ It relaxes against me with a trust not even the most frightened and injured human ever felt for their SecUnit, no matter how comforting a presence I made myself.

*

There’s a gurney waiting when I re-enter through the airlock and I send fervent gratitude to Ship as I lay my patient on it. The effects of gravity on a severely damaged body send its performance reliability into nosedive and it shuts down before I reach the MedBay.

I’m expecting pings which I’ll have to ignore, but the feed is silent, and I realise whatever arguments I’m going to have to face about what I’ve brought on board won’t be started until its life is saved. I broaden the gratitude to include everyone, send _Thank you_ over the feed, and then narrow my focus to just my patient and the MedSystem.

Having the data from the MedSystem is a huge relief. SecUnits aren’t really designed to function alone without systems backing them up, and the knowledge and priorities of a MedSystem are ones I enjoy being part of. Even an old and jury-rigged system like ours.

The first thing to do is get fluids into the patient through the resupply port, its circulatory pump is grinding over how little there is to push around. The second thing to do is get it out of its armour, a thoroughly unpleasant job that will be much better done before it comes back online.

When it does come back online I’m stitching torn flesh back onto it and directing the MedSystem on which arteries to repair. It unfolds itself behind my eyes as if it belongs there, watching my hands rebuild it. I start talking to it, but even I’m not listening to what I’m saying. The next shutdown pulls it cleanly out of me and back into itself before folding it down to nothing.

It takes hours and several more shutdowns before the Combat SecUnit is back in one piece and the MedSystem can handle the rest. It still looks like it’s been in an explosion, raw flesh tied together with stitches over exposed frame, but the internal structure is sound, the circulatory pump is once again silently doing its job, and there’s nothing to do now but wait. I need some off-duty time, but I can’t leave it like this. I crouch down beside the platform so our heads are nearly level and lean into our feed connection.

“How much do you remember about what happened today?” I ask.

_Not enough._ It shows me through the feed, holding onto me to keep its scattered thoughts from whirling out and scattering further. The memories are fragmented, bits and pieces of _gogogo_ , of urgency, of something hungry and predatory that, surprisingly, doesn’t come from itself. It doesn’t ask for help, although I think it’s hoping for it. It’s too newly freed to have the concept, let alone the words.

I don’t know how to help, either, this isn’t something that’s covered in pirated medical textbooks, cheap modules, or hacked downloads from MedSystems and cubicles. No one cares whether we remember our past as long as we do our jobs in the present.

“Your memories are still there,” I say. “Your neural tissue still remembers, still knows how they should be organised. But I can’t… I can’t see that. The organic parts of your memory are just yours, they can’t be hacked.”

I find that comforting, but the Combat SecUnit is frustrated at not immediately being able to share part of itself. The idea that there are things in its head it will always be alone with only upsets it. I hate that I can’t fix this for it, that I can’t do my job. My voice comes out a lot more unsure than I like it to be around patients.

“You could tell me about it?” I say. “Who was the human giving you instructions?”

“Handler.” It croaks the word out loud and its memories start to shift back into order just from that. It’s used to organising most of its brain around Handler. _Handler syncs with me. Sets mission parameters and priorities. He lets me fuck up the enemy._ A burst of pride, sharp glee in its capacity for violence, and then an equally sharp recoil as I fail to hide my distaste. I realise with a sinking feeling what I’ve become to it, what role I’ve stepped into, but I remember how willing it’s been to trust me with its body and mind and I don’t let go. Letting it fall just because I feel morally compromised by the role of handler would be no way to repay that.

*

The ping from the Captain makes me jump and I glance up at Ship’s cameras and then immediately away, knowing it’s watching me through them. That it timed this for the earliest point when the patient could be safely left.

“I’ve got to go and talk to the Captain,” I say. “Keep working on your memories.”

It’s thankfully not too upset by my leaving, mostly because it’s only my physical body I’m walking out the door.

The Captain is waiting for me on the bridge, imposing in its long, swinging coat, braids of brilliantly coloured hair tied roughly back from its face. Its beauty and the way it holds itself gives it a presence larger than any of us, despite its slight frame.

“The SecUnit you brought aboard was a Combat Unit,” the Captain says.

It’s unusual for the Captain to be in the same room as me and not have my full attention, but I’m still monitoring MedSystem and watching the MedBay through Ship’s cameras, and the presence on my feed of a Combat SecUnit sorting through its last day of memories after a catastrophic shutdown is extremely distracting. It’s returned to the memories of that person it was thinking of earlier, the one it wanted to kill or be killed by, and I can see now that it’s a SecUnit, probably the rogue it was brought in to pursue. It’s burning with desire, hate, overwhelming determination to confront and impress, and confused longing, all aimed at some poor SecUnit just trying to get a human to safety and not get torn apart by a Combat SecUnit. It senses my disapproval and its thoughts turn sulky — it was a _rogue_ I don’t _understand_ — but it puts its attention on a diagnostic.

“Yes, Captain,” I say.

“Do you think it’s likely to be a danger to the other crew?” the captain asks.

“I don’t think so. It seems to be programmed to be in constant contact with a handler and prioritise their desires over its own. At the moment it’s in contact with me.” I feel somewhat bad about that. When I responded to its frantic groping on the feed I’d been trying to give it some emotional stability, give it a hand to hold, not cement myself as its central priority. I haven’t been letting it listen in on this but it must sense my misgivings, twined with me as it is, and it responds with a knee-jerk desire to fix whatever is making me want to withdraw from it.

_You’re not doing anything wrong, just think about yourself for now,_ I send it. _I’m not going anywhere._

The captain looks at me. “Are you taking responsibility for it?”

“Captain, I’m not…” I trail off. I do see the Captain’s point, it has to worry about all of us, the bots and constructs it’s freed, even Ship. Combat SecUnits can hack, they can hack other SecUnits, they’re allowed to use malware and familiar with creating it. But isn’t having one free among us no worse than having one of us free among humans? “I’m not its handler or its governor module.”

“But it will accept you as an authority in a way it’s unlikely to accept me.”

I’m not sure whether that’s about the Captain being a ComfortUnit or the fact that a lot of its authority comes from having personally freed most of us.

“The fact that I disabled its governor module doesn’t mean that much.” I keep my eyes on the floor and don’t even try to see the Captain’s expression through Ship’s cameras. “It didn’t ask me to.”

It’s meant to be an offer. It was an offer when the Captain made it to me, gave me a way out of my box before I reached a destination where I’d be expected to shoot people. What I’d done to Combat SecUnit hadn’t been an offer. With it already damaged from one explosion and another about to happen from the inside I hadn’t had time to ask, or enough hacking experience to freeze the governor module until later and still provide medical attention. I’d just hacked it.

“Is it angry with you?” the Captain asks.

It might be, I think, once it has a chance to understand what’s happened to it. But the Captain’s voice is sharp and I wonder what will happen if I won’t take responsibility for a Combat SecUnit. Would it be allowed to stay on Ship? Would it even want to, when it didn’t choose to be here? If we leave it on its own it’s going to pursue that fight it’s so fixated on, and heaven help anyone who gets in its way. “No,” I say. “I’ll take responsibility for it.”

It needs me.

*

My patient detaches itself from the MedSystem before I’m back in the room and I run down the last corridor at full speed. It’s fine, though, fully healed and wandering around the room, poking at equipment that’s meant to be kept sterile.

“You’re looking good,” I say.

It looks at me and says, _Where did the rogue go?_

“It escaped to the gunship. It’s left the system by now.” I don’t actually know that, and I don’t check with Ship.

The Combat SecUnit turns back to the table and starts grinding the scalpel it's holding against it, harsh and methodical, not surprised but still furious. “Don’t do that. I’m going to have to sharpen it again now.”

It drops the scalpel and straightens itself, looking to me as if for permission. _I need to kill the rogue._

That ought to sound bloodthirsty. I’m familiar with how humans feel about each other when they reach the point (70-90% of the way through a mining contract where they’ve been given no free time and nothing to do in it anyway) where they decide murder is the only option. It’s usually a lot less yearning. I’m also aware that when humans are thinking about how beautifully another person moves, how amazing and talented they are, and how much they want to find them, it’s usually a crush. Sometimes crushes end in murder attempts, but not because someone decided to immediately hunt down the object of one. Sex, while uninteresting to me, at least has the benefit of being something you can do with your amazing person multiple times and which they will continue existing after.

“That’s stupid,” I say. “If you admire it so much why do you want it to be dead? Then you won’t have it to admire anymore.”

_I was meant to fight it._

“Well, you can’t now, so it doesn’t matter.” I grab the scalpel and send a signal to MedSystem to turn on the sterilisation field. As if getting this cleaned up briskly enough will close the topic as well.

_I wanted to fight it._

“What about what it wanted? It was just trying to get its human to safety.” Most of us have better things to do than fight Combat SecUnits when escape is an option. I don’t say that, but I don’t try very hard to keep it out of the feed, either. The idea of being hunted down by a Combat Unit just because you did too good a job of fighting it is an awful one, and my sympathy is with the rogue.

The Combat SecUnit looks at me and this time it brings its whole attention to bear when it does, thoughts noticeably sharpening. It turns the word “admire” over a few times, the way it’s been looking at my surgical instruments, and then says, _What would you know?_

_Who are you?_

The suspicion’s a good sign, I tell myself. It’s a relief that it doesn’t just trust anyone who says reassuring things to it. It’s good that I might not be cast in the role of its new handler with no questions asked, even though it’s decidedly awkward when I’ve told the Captain I’m responsible for it.

(I feel a weird sense of disappointment. Maybe some part of me had thought this was like a novel where the young human is instantly trusted by a telepathic wyvern because it _knows_ they are good and trustworthy and will never betray it, instead of the result of a severely compromised mental state.)

_I’m MedUnit._ I switch to a private feed mostly because I don’t want Ship recording any part of this conversation for the Captain. _I'm the one that just put you back together._

_You're a SecUnit._ It pings me as if it hasn’t already been in my feed, sending some kind of company identification query. _Mission assignment standby?_

_Yes, I'm a SecUnit. MedUnit's more of a name. Although working with the MedSystem is what I do here, as you saw. It's part of a SecUnit's function and I... preferred it. To the other functions._

I’ve ignored its code, I’m still not responding with any kind of protocol it recognises, not even the standard ones between bots. That and the word “preferred” gives it pause. It drops its hold on my feed, the sudden absence ringing like silence after a noise you stopped noticing, and leaps into Ship’s systems. In moments it’s seized the camera view, which Ship doesn’t fight it on, and then hacked into Ship’s other systems and silenced Ship’s attempt to alert the Captain.

_Stop it!_ I send, my own sense of agitation rising alongside Combat Unit’s. Ship is generous with camera access, but most of those systems are off limits to the rest of us. Some of them are vital, and we may not need much life support but we do need some. Ship’s drowning below the wave of Combat Unit’s search and the only power I have to stop this lies in Combat Unit’s odd attachment to me.

Combat Unit sends a directionless, helpless ping — _Handler?_ — just as I shout across the feed. _If you hurt Ship I’ll never forgive you!_

There is a hesitance in the way Combat re-connects. _What?_

_You can't do that. There are other people on board. You can't just hack things!_ I'm panicking a bit, my bloodstream flooded with adrenaline that isn't helping my performance right now. _And Ship didn't say you could do that._ Is it going to do that to me? Hack into my brain and start moving things around? It's had so few walls around its own mind, but I like having bits of myself that aren't publicly available. I certainly don't want to be rearranged.

It tries to latch onto me again, exist in my feed the way it was before, only to flinch away at the wave of fear and guilt I’m experiencing. I took responsibility for it, but I haven’t been able to stop it doing this, I can’t stop it hurting me. I can’t stop it hurting anyone. Its grip on both my feed and Ship’s systems wavers.

_I don't understand. I'm meant to hack things._ Isn't it? But then it can’t figure out why I’m saying no. _What am I supposed to do?_

Why is it asking me? Has it even realised I'm a rogue? Is it just that lost without instructions? _I bet your Handler didn't like you hacking ships he was on either._

A sense of rupture. Handler is gone and it’s realising that now.

_You're a SecUnit. But you don't use protocol. You do what you 'prefer.’_ A sudden flare of rage and fear. _What did you do to me! Where's Handler??_ And then Combat Unit lunges, a blur of motion, to grab me.

_I hacked your governor module. You were dying! I'm sorry!_ I fling myself back against the wall, throwing out pings wildly. Ship's sending a more targeted alert to the Captain, I'm just sending a jumble of my company’s old codes. _Hostile. Danger. Attack as group._ The whole crew together might be able to deal with even a Combat Unit’s concentrated processing power. If I die for bringing it aboard, if I’m the only one that dies, I’m ready to count myself lucky.

Combat Unit is already dropping its hold on Ship, scrambling to shut down my calls for assistance. In a series of brutally quick motions, it snatches me away from the wall and slams me to the floor, arms pinned above my head where my gunports point away from it. It leans down into my face, mouth a grimace, frustrated that I won’t fight back. _You killed Handler, you're a rogue, you made me a rogue._

_I didn't kill him! I would have saved him if I could!_ Those humans, blown apart and asphyxiated before I arrived, that I'd begged to help and then ignored because I was too late. Because the one I could save was this Combat Unit, fierce and frantic and holding me in place.

_Tell me! What am I supposed to do now!_ In the back of its mind, the jagged loss of everything it knew as normal wars with a longing for bright violent motion, for something to cling to or move towards.

_Whatever you want._ I regret saying it as soon as I do. It's the normal answer for newly freed SecUnits, but this isn't normal. Maybe it wants to kill me. Certainly it wants to chase after its rogue, across systems if it has to. For a moment I wonder if it would be better to let it, if that means it leaves us intact, but I don't want to. I don't want it out there by itself, brilliant and deadly and lost, leaving a trail of destruction until some company brings more of its kind against it. _We're all rogues here. We help other Units, other bots._

I'm not calm enough to put any of this in a way that makes sense, and Ship's just told the Captain it's dangerous. What am I doing? _You could help. You could stay._

Whatever I'm doing, it's just enough. Combat pauses. It does not change the position of its body in control over mine, but it changes the conformation of its grip on my feed. From stranglehold to handhold, Combat SecUnit begins to grasp what trying to save someone means. _I could stay. I could help?_

Oh. It’s not a monster I’ve foolishly brought aboard, about to tear through my crewmates, it’s just a construct like the rest of us. Just another SecUnit struggling to cope with change after a lifetime with a governor module, and it didn’t even get to choose to try. I tentatively test to see whether I can get alerts out now that its grip has relaxed. I don't think any of my own distress codes got through, but Ship's report means I need to tell the Captain that I've got things under control. (I hope. I really really hope.)

"You can stay." I'm talking out loud to calm myself more than it. "It's not bad, being free, you can talk to people. Other SecUnits, not just your handler." I don't know what else it wants, but it's been lonely. "There are lots of things you could help us with."

I flip through my memories for the last heist where we were extracting a construct and not stealing parts for Ship or for ourselves. My own role had been escorting the client while the others defended us, both in case it was injured and needed medical attention and because I'm usually good at talking to frightened people. (I don't think I've been doing so well today, but in my defense I've been frightened too.) I hand over the memory file without editing it, just picking a cut off point for the beginning and end.

CombatUnit takes the file, checks it perfunctorily for malware, and reads the memory. With something new and interesting to investigate its sense of rage and loss and fear temporarily falls away. It slowly releases me from where it has me pinned and sits up.

I slide myself back against the wall and sit up too, careful not to look like I might attack or escape as I bring my knees up against my chest. I send an all clear code to the Captain and it responds with a view from Ship's cameras of me huddled out of Combat Unit's way.

_Report._ The Captain says. _Are you hurt?_

_No. It thought I'd killed its Handler, that would normally merit a violent reaction. I've explained things._

_You encouraged it to stay._

Right, I said that part out loud. _It could be an asset. It's interested in helping._

The Captain considers. _It doesn't look like you have much influence over it._

_I'm just trying not to upset it._ I make myself shift away from the wall a bit, not into Combat Unit's space but enough so that I look less like I'm ready for it to pounce.

Combat Unit runs the memory file back and forth, turns it over to look at the metadata, and returns its attention to me. _Is that designation: Captain?_ it asks. From the memory, it's gleaned a bit of who the others are.

"That's right," I say. "It's checking up on me."

Now that I’ve answered one question, Combat Unit begins to bombard me with more. Is the Captain not human? What is the command structure aboard the Ship? How did the other members of the crew decide they also wanted to save bots? How did I? Who assigns missions? What happens to the client afterward? Why is the heist team structured the way it is? Is the Captain the ComfortUnit approaching our current location from starboard hallway, ETA 4 seconds?

I try to respond to the onslaught. The Captain isn't human. The command structure mostly just consists of us obeying the Captain, or Ship when we're on board it since it has authority over its own interior. We'll defer to someone in their own area if they've taken on a specific one. Rescued clients often choose to leave for planets outside the Corporation Rim or sometimes to disguise themselves and travel within it, but ones who want to help can join our crew. The Captain assigns missions and it's in charge because it knows what it's doing and it freed most of us. And _oh shit_ it is.

I stand up and turn to face the direction the Captain's coming from. I realise that in all this, and due to still thinking of it as a patient within the MedBay, I haven't given Combat Unit any clothes.

"There are spare clothes in that cabinet," I tell it, indicating which one in the feed.

Combat stands up and moves toward the cabinet, responding to my urgency but a little torn. It wants to see this ComfortUnit who wields authority over other rogues and it compromises by taking over the MedBay cameras.

When the Captain enters the room I move between it and Combat Unit, realising with some confusion that it's Combat Unit I want to protect.

The Captain looks at me. "I came down to talk to your new recruit. That's going to be very difficult if you're in between us."

I step back, flustered, and grip Combat Unit a little tighter on the feed, pulling up files about the kind of skills that get used on our missions in case it needs to draw on them.

As Combat finishes dressing, the Captain turns to look at it. There's a long moment in which both take each other's measure, the Captain with the usual inscrutability that betrays none of its doubt or concern, and Combat SecUnit with open, focused curiosity. This ends when the Captain secures a feed connection and I can’t hear what it’s saying to Combat or what Combat’s saying to it. I’m on edge enough to feel like hacking the Captain’s feed myself, which is the kind of stupid paranoid impulse you get as a SecUnit and makes me sympathise with Combat. We all have to learn.

Then out loud the Captain says, "We're also responsible for each other. MedUnit will help you get used to being free, and help you find out what you want to do from now on."

"It said I could stay and help." Voice rusty, infrequently used.

"If you stay and help, you will be assisting on missions to free other bots and constructs, and to maintain Ship and protect our crew. And it means you will have to listen to me." The Captain’s eyes narrow.

"Okay." Combat continues to watch the Captain, but it reaches for me on the feed. Plucks the files I prepared, but doesn't do anything with them. It just wants to know that it's doing right so far.

"And," the Captain continues. "While you are on Ship you will respect that everyone else is also free. You don't own them and you don't hack them without permission. That includes Ship and its systems."

Agitation from Combat Unit, although while Captain's watching it it keeps its body still. _Did I do wrong?_ it asks me.

_You didn't know. But you can't do that again,_ I say.

"Okay," it says again, uncertain. "I won't hack the Ship systems. Or the other Units."

The Captain looks to me. _Would you say an apology is in order?_

I don't know whether I would. Ship deserves an apology, but... _Combat. Do you know what an apology is?_

Irritation. _Yes. Humans make apologies, if they fuck up and get chewed out._ Then dawning realization that it is the one fucking up and being chewed out, and it has no idea where to start with that.

_Tell Ship you're sorry and you won't use its systems without permission in future,_ I prompt.

The Captain helpfully pings Ship on the feed connection that we’re sharing. The diffuse presence of a bot pilot, hesitant and aggrieved, fills the channel.

Combat's face does something uncomfortable. _Parameter set: Ship systems access prohibited,_ it sends. _And... Sorry. I did wrong._

Ship's forgiveness is wary, conditional on waiting to see if there is a next time, but it expresses that it's willing to give Combat a chance. I'm relieved that Combat's apologised, and I’m trying to suppress amusement at its discomfort. Considering it wasn't long ago that it had me pinned against the floor, it would be really unwise to laugh at it.

"Thank you, Combat," I say.

It throws me a sulky — dare I say pouting — look. The Captain doesn't show amusement, but it nods in satisfaction.

"I look forward to working with you," the Captain says to Combat. "MedUnit will help you with what you need, but you can ping me if it's not available." With that, it gives me one last pointed, searching look and turns to go.

I don't think the Captain's very pleased with me. I hate that, but at least it's not displeased with Combat, which would be worse. This is the kind of situation in which it's recommended for humans to take a deep breath and usual for them to sigh, but changing my breathing won't make me feel any different. I don't know what Combat needs right now, but I need a break.

"Are you okay?" I ask it.

Combat is keyed up, and unsure how to answer that question. _I'm fine,_ it says. _I want to see the rest of Ship._

“You should probably run a recharge cycle first,” I say. It probably _should_ run a recharge cycle, but also I need it to shut down for a bit and stop feeling things in my feed. I need to curl up in my wardrobe and let myself feel like I’m actually off duty for a few hours. “If you finish before I’m back and want to look around Ship by yourself for a bit that’s fine, as long as you don’t bother anyone.”

_Bother how?_

“As long as you don’t hack anyone and leave if they’re obviously uncomfortable.” I ping Ship. _It knows it’s meant to obey you now. Will you keep any eye on it? Please?_ I’m pushing my luck but Ship grudgingly agrees.

_I’m not allowed to come and find you?_ Combat asks, on edge.

This would be a good place to set boundaries, but I don’t even know how to begin. SecUnits aren’t allowed to do that. Dealing with clingy clients who want me available for days on end hasn’t killed me yet, so maybe it’s easier to just accept a shorter break. “It's not forbidden. But I’d… appreciate it. If I could have some time to integrate new experiences.”

Combat stares blankly at me for a moment, agitation and curiosity warring for the upper hand, and then away. “Okay,” it says. _Okay. Understood. How long?_

“Only two hours.” I set a timer and let it see me doing it. “And you won’t be totally alone, Ship’s going to keep an eye on you.”

It gives the nearest camera a look of mingled resentment and relief and says, _I can handle it._

“Good,” I say. “I’ll see you in a little while.” And I leave while it’s still okay with the idea.

*

I walk through my room, past the tree trunk and resin coffee table, and step into my wardrobe with deep relief. The feeling of Combat going under, running the recharge cycle I asked it to, is an even greater relief.

Curled up there I rest my head against the wooden side of the wardrobe and re-open the _Station SaintJoseph_ novel in my feed, but I can’t make myself worry about weasel raiders right now. I’m feeling too much real anxiety about Combat, about whether it can adapt, about what it might do while I’m reading. In a weird way that’s nice too, to be able to worry without it knowing, without its distress chewing on the back of my brain. Best not to waste my downtime combing over the problem again and again, though.

Besides, it’s not just a problem. If I admit it to myself I’m not just doing this for Combat’s sake. I want it to stay. I want to be able to help it. I want its trust, its questions, the way it needs me. The way my feelings and goals matter to it, even if it’s because they have to matter to it, even if that’s something I shouldn’t take advantage of.

As the clothes hanging up above my head, with their jewel-tones and sky blues and pearl buttons, could testify, I’m not very good at denying myself things I want.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This is the story that answers the question of how Combat SecUnit ended up on board a ship crewed by rogues to begin with, and I hope you enjoyed finding out. Something which isn't obvious (because MedUnit doesn't know) is that the Captain is the ComfortUnit from _Artificial Condition_. This is both why it's here to help Murderbot and why it has no intention of contacting Murderbot about that. (It was not having a good day even before its medic dragged a Combat SecUnit aboard.)
> 
> If you want to know what I was listening to while plotting this fic, the answer is _Suddenly_ from the _Les Mis_ movie which is surprisingly on point for MedUnit's feelings here, with the exception of one line because Combat is definitely not an innocent child.
> 
> With thanks to Anrea for once again being an excellent beta!


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